


The Right Path

by darksquall



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, The Warehouse Guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darksquall/pseuds/darksquall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after the events of the movie, the old guy from the warehouse finds his right path. (With a little science boys at the end)</p><p>Inspired by http://youneedtostrut.tumblr.com/post/30279988771 the extended scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Path

**Author's Note:**

> The characters and locations contained herein do not belong to me.

The sun was just beginning to set as he walked his last round for the day. The sky was already warming, the faintest touch of pinks and even purple in the blue beyond the sky scrapers in the distant city across the water. 

He walked the same path he always did. The same steps he always did. He ducked into one warehouse and checked the doors and watched the dust motes dance in the light just like he always did. The sound of the birds in the rafters bought him the same odd comfort that it always had. He liked to listen to them. 

Someone had come and tried to patch the roof after he’d reported it, but after a bad storm in the winter, the boards had sheared off and they’d just never bothered to come back. The pile of rubble, pipes and board was still sat there, right under the hole that the big guy had made when he’d landed. 

It’d been a year to the day. Nothing else had dropped out of the sky – though he’d been careful to check every now and then just in case – and from what he’d seen on the news, the big guy that got all little or the little guy that sometimes blew up had found where he was supposed to be. He’d saved New York, along with the other guys. 

He was glad of that. The kid had looked so damn lost when he’d looked up at him.

Harry checked the doors were still locked, and they were, just as they always were. Then he strolled back out of the main door. Now the sky was on fire – red and orange and the fading gold of the sunlight. The city buildings cast into dark shadows littered with lights already. A perfect night for early summer. Just warm enough that his shirt wasn’t uncomfortable, but not too cold to have him reaching for a jacket. In a week or so, he’d have to switch to the short sleeved shirt to do this same walk, the same path as every day.

He turned to head back to the guardhouse, and paused. 

There was a motorbike. Parked as nice as you like, right in the place he’d once parked his bike. Before the little guy had ridden off on it to save the world from aliens. 

That hadn’t been there when he’d walked this way. 

The coachwork was in a bottle green and dark gold. The fading light turned the chrome plating on to red flares, bright enough that he barely noticed the kind of familiar A with an arrow for the crossing stroke. He did, however, pay attention to the large, dark green leather saddlebags with gold stitching – they matched the seat. 

Harry glanced around, looking for whoever had left it there, reaching for his flashlight now. He couldn’t see anyone – not even a footprint in the dust. It was like someone had dropped out of the sky and left it there. He sidled up, slowly, noting the keys were in the ignition. And a piece of paper was peeking out of one of the saddle bags. 

No one around. So nothing to stop him from checking it out. 

He took the paper, unfolding it. The handwriting was very neat, very precise. 

_‘Maybe it’s time you moved on from this placement._

_Thank you,_

_Bruce Banner – the little guy.’_

 

Harry chuckled to himself, looking over the bike. She was brand new – a Harley softail – looked like she’d never even been ridden. He ran his hand lightly over the tank and seat, the leather warm from the sun. Maybe he ought to take the kid’s advice, maybe it was time he moved on from the warehouses where he walked the same path day after day. 

Maybe it was time he found a new path. 

He folded the piece of paper carefully, lifting the cover to one of the saddle bags to tuck it safely back inside. When he opened it, he stopped dead. It was full of money. Neat little piles of bills, all wrapped up with those little paper bands, each one of them marked $10,000. The bag was full of them. He stared, not quite believing his eyes. Then he checked the bag on the other side – the same. More little piles of bills, more little paper wrappers. 

Harry looked down at the note in his hand again, reading it again just in case he’d read it wrong. He turned it over, and found, in the same neat handwriting another message. 

_‘For setting me on the right path.’_

He looked at the bike, again. At the keys in the ignition, and the setting sun gleaming across her paint. At the sun.

He buckled the saddlebags closed and slung a leg over the bike. She burbled into life as he turned the key, and as he coaxed her throttle she roared for him. “Let’s go find our right path,” he chuckled to the bike, taking hold of the peak of his cap and tossing it away carelessly. He shifted the kick stand out of the way and paced her towards the roadway until she was on solid ground, then he opened her up, and headed for the setting sun.

 

 

“You,” Tony grinned, “have such a beautiful heart.” 

“He gave me the kick I needed to do what was right, find the right path,” Bruce watched the tail lights of the bike disappear into the distance. They were sat on the edge of the roof of the warehouse. Bruce had been there a while – long enough to have the old guy’s route down, and long enough for Tony to head back and bring the bike in just in time for the old guy to get to just the right point in his patrol. Tony had joined him after that. “Thank you for doing this.”

“Hey, I owed him too – for sending you back to me,” Tony had retracted the suit just enough to leave one of his hands bare. He brushed the backs of his fingers against Bruce’s cheek. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, this past year.”

“It was a good way to spend our first anniversary,” Bruce lifted his head to smile at Tony. “So… I think we said dinner, dancing, and then bed?” 

“With a lot of emphasis on the bed. Staggering amounts of emphasis.” 

“Put the rest of your suit back on and take me home, Tony,” Bruce snuck one last kiss before Tony could pull down the faceplate, then wrapped his arms around Tony’s shoulders. “Or should I call you Ironman?”

“Oh you know how much I love you saying my name when I’m wearing the suit.”

He closed his eyes as he felt Tony’s arms lift him up. Definitely the right path.


End file.
